


hey little train, wait for me

by panoramicity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panoramicity/pseuds/panoramicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I loved him too much,” Harry says quietly before turning to face him. “It doesn’t work like that y’know? When you’re not equals.” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He nods because he understands. He thinks he loves Liam too much too.</i>
</p>
<p>As Zayn and Liam's affair start crumbling to the ground, Zayn finds solace and warmth somewhere else close by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. LIAM

**Author's Note:**

> Semi AU because Danielle isn't a dancer and since I have no idea what her personality's like, it's probably 100% OOC.

The room is marked with the stench of cigarette smoke and leftover food but it’s mostly Liam and the pungent, _pungent_ smell of sex that holds Zayn’s attention. Zayn waits for Liam’s breathing to fall into the pattern he knows so well by now before he turns— _slowly_ , as to not wake the boy up—to face Liam.

And it is Liam in this state, asleep with the slightest hint of a smile, Zayn wants to remember the most. He doesn’t get to see it often so when he sees that Liam is asleep, he starts. He lets his gaze trace every curve, angle and plain just long enough so that the afterimage is burned into the innards of his eyelids when he shuts them. When the burn retires to a singe, he does it all over again until he’s satisfied with what’s painted.

It’s important to him that he does this right, because on nights he's alone in his hotel room—a room too big for someone with the likes of him, a room too big for anyone—it's Liam; living, breathing, respiring (and god knows what else because he spent biology with his heart between the pages of a moleskine) right next to him, that he plays in his head on infinite loop, like a silent film being rewound.

Liam doesn’t let him do this, not when he’s awake anyway – words rushing out to say something about feeling uncomfortable under Zayn’s eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered one night, a night eerily reminiscent of this one. Zayn remembers the night perfectly (remembers every night with Liam perfectly):room service a mess on the floor, the bathroom door ajar from their bath; and Liam curled up right next to him in a hotel bathrobe, smelling like his brand of soap, his brand of shampoo.

“Like what?” he had asked.

“Like,” Liam hesitated. “Like you’d give up the world for me.”

Quietly, eyes trained on their entwined hands so as to avoid Liam’s eyes: “But I would.”

.

 

Zayn feels his hand tremble and hears his heartbeat fill up the entire room with deafening thuds; which would be deemed acceptable in some situations, just not when he’s only pouring morning coffee into his mug. There’s a knock on his door and without thinking he walks to greet whoever’s standing on the other side, forgetting the fact that he’s only in his boxer shorts, the one he wore to sleep last night (after it was first tossed aside).

The door he opens reveals Harry, all well dressed up and ready for the day. “Hey mate, just wanted to remind you that we’ve got an interview at one so we’ll need to be ready by twelve.”

 _Okay,_ he wants to say – but a second later he realises the words don’t come out. _Nod. Move your head up and down you fuckwad_ , he tells himself. He succeeds in moving his head after that, even though he does it all a bit too quickly for it to be a convincing human act.

Harry wrinkles his brows, but Zayn’s eyes are focused on the empty space behind Harry to notice when he hears, “You okay mate?”

Zayn quickly looks to Harry and sees that Harry is looking at the coffee in his hand. Only then he realises that Harry is really looking at the hand holding the mug—wet and slightly burnt.

He nods again. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just, coffee,” he explains, but sentence structure and grammar are lost to him this morning. “Have you-um-have you seen Liam?”

At the mention of the name, Harry gives him a look he’s sure Harry reserves only for him now (and he’s recognised it all far too well – been at receiving end of it one too many times). “Danielle came by this morning,” Harry says, voice dropping a note lower than it usually sounds like.

“She’s in town?” he asks.

“Yeah, called a bit earlier, told us it was a surprise for him. Zayn,” he pauses. Zayn is looking elsewhere, at anywhere but Harry’s face, because he knows how this goes already. Harry pauses, wants to say something he knows he won’t be able to say—or, doesn’t think he has the right to say—and then says something else entirely (something easier), “I’ll see you at noon.”

.

 

“Bum me a cig?”

She’s smiling when he turns to look at her, strands of her brown hair tucked behind her left ear. She looks nice—as always. Zayn wants to laugh thinking about how the world works. It is ten minutes before the interview begins and Zayn is sneaking a quick one behind the studio, after managing to escape a few of their bodyguard, something he’s beginning to be quite skilled at lately.

“You smoke now.” Zayn hands her a stick.

“I do. Picked it up when I was in France. Filthy habit.” She smiles and leans on the wall right next to him, body heat exuding her person – _she’s warm,_ Zayn thinks. _She’s always so nice and warm._

He flicks the stick in his fingers and watches the way the ash reaches the ground. “And what did he say?”

She laughs a little, rolls her eyes at that. “Same shit he says to you I’d bet.” Zayn bitterly smiles a little, resenting the thought of how that’s probably true.

“You know, we’ve talked about this,” she starts again. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop fucking my boyfriend.”

“That’s something you should discuss with him, isn’t it?” He’s not really looking at her—doesn’t want her to see the guilt that’s missing from his eyes. “He comes running to me,” he says, trying to make it sound like an excuse even though he doesn’t really care if he doesn’t have one.

She shrugs. “And you let him.”

Before he could think of anything to say the back door swings open and someone tells him that it’s time to get inside. He nods in the direction and gently nudges her shoulder – smiles a little at her to say goodbye before walking away. He almost makes it to the door when he hears her say: “He loves me Zayn.”

Zayn wants to say he doesn’t need to be reminded (maybe even wants to argue that Liam loves him too). But instead, he keeps on walking and closes the door behind him.

.

 

Zayn’s sweating a bit when he joins the rest of the group, tries to convince himself it’s only because of the heat. He’s the first to sit on the set and he takes it as a chance to cool himself down. After a while, the boys join in and Liam sits right across him. Liam shoots him a smile and doesn’t seem to suspect anything – something Zayn’s very glad about.

The interview starts and everything goes along as usual. He doesn’t say much but he never really has to, he’s always glad to play the ‘mysterious’ and ‘reserved’ one of the group. He diverts his attention to a button on his jacket instead, and then to the interviewer’s shoes.

“You ok?” Harry asks him quietly, his body pressing against the same spot he felt her just a few minutes ago.

“Danielle’s outside,” he answers instead.  

It takes Harry a few seconds to understand before he turns his face towards him. “Outside? She’s here?” Zayn nods slightly.

Louis brings Harry into a funny story he’s telling the interviewer not moments after he asks Zayn what happened outside. Zayn’s quite glad he’s interrupted because he doesn’t really feel like talking about it and he knows Harry’s not the type to bring it up again when they’re on their own later. Still, he makes a mental note to sit next to Niall next time.

***

 

It’s never the night after or even the next night after they have to go separate ways that Liam comes crawling to him, but by the next week or two the symptoms are as conspicuous as the flu.

He’s tempted to lock the door some nights (thinks that maybe that’ll send a message), tonight even more than most nights, but instead he listens to the small voice in the back of his head that tells him any night with Liam is better than any night without. So he tucks himself in his bed and stares outside the window instead – his back facing the door so that Liam doesn’t see his face before he’s able to figure out how to act around him.

He hears the door opening a second before he hears his own heart beat racing. He feels the bed shifting, feels Liam pressed up right against him, and he’s had it in his head that he would tell Liam to fuck off. But Liam’s hand reaches over and rests against his thumping chest and he feels himself faltering into the touch.

There is quiet before he hears: “I missed you.”

This wakes him up and makes him forget about the hand still placed lightly on his chest. This makes him want to push Liam off the bed—makes him hope that his head may even hit something and bleed because who the fuck is Liam Payne to treat him this way.

“I fucking hate you,” Zayn says, feeling small like a petulant child. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Liam doesn’t flinch. It’s not the first time he hears this coming from Zayn. In fact, it’s all become something of a pattern now. “I know you do.” Liam buries his face further into the crook of Zayn’s neck and adds quietly, “Hate me, but don’t leave me.”

And it’s a silly thing for him to add because they both know he never will.

.

 

Zayn’s always been a heavy sleeper, he thinks he wasn’t born with this so called ‘biological clock’ that other people claim to have. So instead he relies on his mobile alarm during tours and lately it’s the only thing that gets him to wake up. (One day, he thinks sometimes, when it gets too much, he’ll just turn it off and, hopefully, he’ll never have to wake up.)

He wakes up in a better mood than he’s been in for days—he always does the morning after. He turns around, sees Liam sitting up still next to him with his computer on his lap, and smiles in return when Liam smiles at him.

“Good morning. Nice sleep?” Liam says before adding: “You know, you’re not nearly as pretty in the morning.”

Zayn’s in good enough of a mood to know to take it as a joke. “Says the guy who needs to get his nose hair trimmed. I can see it right from down here y’know and it’s not a pretty sight.”

He’s rewarded with the sight of Liam’s eyes crinkling up just the way he remembers they do before a pillow hits his face.

.

 

Danielle sends postcards from wherever she is every two weeks. They always come on Tuesdays and they always say how happy she is and how much she misses him. Liam keeps these stashed in a box he carries with him wherever they’re staying and he rereads them from time to time. He explains that he loves her handwriting, that postcards feel a lot more personal than texts or emails.

“I fell in love with the most difficult girl on earth,” he would say to anyone who listens.

Zayn knows better than to bother Liam when he’s reading his postcards.

.

 

“Why didn’t it work?” Zayn asks the boy sitting next to him that Tuesday night. Harry was nice enough to offer him _‘a night out where they could drown in their self-pity without anyone else watching’_. Zayn didn’t feel like talking but he did want to get out of their hotel and with Harry he knew he wasn’t going to have to say much if he didn’t want to.

So instead, he figures he’d rather do the asking. Zayn keeps his eyes on the nearly empty glass in his hand. “With you and Grimmy, I mean. What went wrong?”

Harry looks at him, surprised he’s even asking, and puts down his bottle on the table. He shrugs a bit and smiles like he usually does but his eyes look too sad to be his. Zayn wonders if he usually lets anyone see him this miserable.

“I loved him too much,” he says quietly before turning to face Zayn. “It doesn’t work like that y’know? When you’re not equals.”

He nods because he understands. He thinks he loves Liam too much too. “Was it the same with you and Louis?” Zayn feels like he’s allowed to ask about them at last. It wasn’t something easy to talk about for a long time, and even after things got easier Zayn still felt it wasn’t his place to ask.

At the mention of him and Louis a smile creeps up on his face as if he’s thinking of a fond memory. “Nah, what Louis and I had was different. It was simple and perfect,” he says. His smile a perfect lopsided smirk everyone knows too well. “Until perfect became tiresome. I guess it was a case of those ‘ _brightest flames burn out the fastest’_ sort of thing. We just grew out of it in the end,” he sighs and says it like it’s just a matter of fact.

Zayn doesn’t understand. “But don’t you ever regret it? Not fighting harder for either of them?”

“Funny isn’t it how people just assume someone didn’t try hard enough when something doesn’t work out? Why is there this stigma people believe that says love _needs_ to be hard and painful or it isn’t love?”

Zayn keeps quiet and drowns himself in more self-hatred with the help of another gulp because _it’s the only thing I cling on to_ , he thinks to himself.

“Someone told me once: whatever we choose to decide, we’ll have regrets either way. The only solution is to learn how to choose isn’t it?” Harry smiles, and Zayn feels a strange sense of comfort from the way Harry seems so sure of himself.

That night, Zayn locks his door and counts to three hundred and forty-one before he falls asleep.

***

 

They perform over 12 different tour dates and do more interviews than their youth, energy and enthusiasm (and patience) can handle before they’re finally told they could have a day off the next day. Liam announces he’s going to just stay in his room and not leave for the whole day playing video games or whatever, Niall agrees and Harry is already focused on his phone scrolling down a list of names.

“Think I’ll go shopping tomorrow,” Louis declares. The others don’t question a thing because they’ve been victims to Louis’ incessant complaints about not being able to shop for weeks now. _(“Online shopping just isn’t the same!”)_

Zayn figures he’d rather sleep in until after noon and then maybe get a massage later in the evening but Louis has other plans for him. “Come shopping with me,” he says, grabbing Zayn by the arm.

Zayn hates shopping. “I don’t know man, I’d rather just get some sleep y’know,” he says lazily.

“Oh you sleep 14 hours a day as it is, Malik. Come with me. We’ll walk and have lunch. It’ll be fun. I miss hanging out with you. I thought we could chat and all that. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Zayn rolls his eyes but smiles, Louis has a way of getting what he wants. “Just because Eleanor’s not in town doesn’t mean you get to have us be her replacement,” he teases.

“Frankly I don’t see any other use for you lot.”

.

 

They walk through shops without being too recognised by the crowd – beanies and dark sunglasses hiding a part of their face. Zayn shuffles through stores uninterestedly. He stops once at a sweatshirt that had a funny drawing of a man on a tricycle, but returns it when he sees the price tag. Even with the money he has in his pockets now he still can’t shake the frugal values he’d been raised with. It’s good, he thinks, it keeps him grounded. A sweatshirt should never cost that much money. He likes spending his money on his family though, his sisters especially. He was about to ask Louis if he’d help him look for something for his sisters when Louis pulls and leads him outside by his sleeve.

Zayn doesn’t question it at first. Louis makes impromptu decisions all the time. Zayn quickly learns early on in their friendship to trust Louis with whatever they’ll be doing next. They usually end up having more fun than planned.

They stroll through a park aimlessly before stopping in front of a lake. The people around them seem to be whispering and staring at them but no one walks up to them to disturb their peace. The crazier fans must not enjoy afternoon strolls very much.

It was a while before Zayn finally asks, “You didn’t invite me out today to shop did you?”

Zayn sees Louis’ lips curve into a smile. He shrugs and replies, “We can do that later. Told you I missed hanging out with you.”

“Well this has been some quality time well-spent,” he says dryly, his body motioning to the park around them. “Park strolls.”

Louis huffs out a small laugh. It always feels like he laughs at everything Zayn says – even at times Zayn knows he’s just being a negative little shit. It’s nice. Confusing, but nice. Louis turns to look at Zayn. “Do you two ever talk about it?”

Every fiber in Zayn’s body immediately registers it as a question about Liam. Who else could it be about? Zayn fists his hands inside the pockets of his jacket and he kicks a small pebble on the ground. “He doesn’t really like talking about it. Me neither obviously.”

Zayn’s not looking at Louis’ face so it surprises him when Louis scoffs. He even sounds angry to a certain degree. “Why do you let him treat you like that? It’s crap. I mean I know we’re all friends and friends don’t take sides but _fuck_ Zayn.”

Zayn feels like he needs to defend himself for some reason, as if anything he’d say could be a good enough excuse. “Liam…He’s the only thing I know any more. Everything changes – and he’s the only thing I could cling on to.”

“And what exactly are you clinging on to mate? That shy, insecure little boy? The boy who didn’t think he could do anything?”

Zayn shrugs but doesn’t say anything. Louis fixes his eyes on Zayn in defeat and there’s a moment of silence.

“How long have you guys known?” Zayn asks lamely. He still feels shy about it, even though he knows it’s pretty much common knowledge. He and Liam don’t always bother to be subtle.

“I don’t know. Since forever? With the walks of shame and the room sharing and the bite marks, it’s not all that hard to figure out y’know. We just didn’t know how to talk to you about it since you never talk about anything. You just turn into a depressing little shit did you know that?” he adds to lighten the air around them.

“Yeah. Well, sorry,” Zayn offers. He surprises himself with how he genuinely means it this time.

“Nah, don’t be. It’s your right. I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to talk or anything, I’m here.” Zayn slowly nods his head and Louis rolls his eyes before nudging him on the shoulder. They share a laugh.

“And what about you? You doing okay?”

“Me?” Louis says quietly. Then: “I’m happy.”

“With Eleanor.”

“Yeah. Biggest fucking plot twist of all. But yeah.” Louis says before he laughs quietly to himself. “Now come on, I feel like buying her a gift and you were probably looking for something for your sisters weren’t you, you sentimental arse.”

.

 

When Zayn and Louis arrive back at the hotel, Niall is lodged in Liam’s room playing video games and Harry is no where to be seen. Zayn’s thoughts wander to where he could be because for the first time in a long time Zayn misses hanging out with his friends.

 _We’re back at Liam’s. Where r u?,_ his thumbs quickly type.

Harry doesn’t reply until much later, when Zayn is watching Louis kick Liam’s ass as Niall cheers him on after an embarrassing defeat himself.

 _I’m with Nick, will be back soon x,_ Zayn feels a sense of relief as his eyes dart across his mobile screen. At least Harry is alive and well (and with Grimmy. Something Zayn will ask about during their next night out, not that he’s hoping they’ll even ever need one anymore).

Not ten minutes later another text comes in. _Could u come pick me up?_ followed by a name of what Zayn guesses is a local pub.

_Please don’t bring the others._

.

 

Zayn finds him sitting in a corner booth in the private section alone with his head buried in his arms on the table. He sits right next to the curly haired boy and molds his hand to the crook of Harry’s neck, gently rubbing his hand up and down.

Harry turns his head so that his eyes meet Zayn’s but doesn’t bother sitting up. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Zayn replies with a small smile, trying his best to mask his concern. “What happened? Where’s Grimmy?” he asks after what he reckons is an appropriate amount of time.

“He had to go back to London,” Harry says like it’s only a small matter of fact – like it’s not why he’s sitting alone in a pub of a foreign city in the middle of the night.

“Does he do this often?” Zayn asks even though he thinks he can guess.

Harry doesn’t answer. Instead he says, voice muffled through the fabric of his sleeve, “I was going to take a cab. I didn’t want to trouble you. But the security wouldn’t let me. Must be one of Paul’s friends.”

Zayn’s thumb makes small circles on the back of Harry’s neck. “You’d get lost. Or worse, kidnapped,” Zayn grins.

Harry doesn’t say anything at first and the arm covering his face makes it impossible for Zayn to guess what he’s thinking but his eyes stay locked with Zayn’s. “Would you come looking for me?”

Zayn’s straightens up in his seat and wrinkles his forehead, a bit confused by the question. “Of course,” he says. Harry didn’t even need to ask. Zayn thinks all the boys would do so for each other – and so would their millions of fans, obviously.

It’s another beat of silence again before Harry turns his head away and Zayn almost doesn’t hear the small _good enough_ that escapes Harry’s lips.

.

 

Security half carries Harry back to his room and Zayn follows closely behind. They leave after they settle him on his bed, with him being in a state of half-consciousness. Zayn closes the door after they leave and continues to dutifully help his friend clean up. It’s not the first time he’s had to so he knows the drill.  

As Zayn tries to sit Harry up straight so that he could take off the younger boy’s shirt and blazer, Harry huffs out a chuckle. “I’m lame. “

“You’re not,” Zayn replies automatically, unbuttoning Harry’s shirt before tossing it aside.

“No,” Harry says firmly, still very drunk as Zayn lowers him back to the bed. “Wanted to be strong. For you. But. Look at me.”

Zayn stops his attempt in slipping off Harry’s trousers and looks up at Harry. “For me?”

“You’re always so sad. Because of Liam,” Harry says to him before pouting.

It feels like a kick to the stomach. Zayn feels bad for making Harry feel as if he had the responsibility to be Zayn’s fallback net, to always be ready and prepared for whenever Zayn needed somebody. Zayn finds himself smiling and walks closer to Harry so to ruffle his curls and place a kiss on his forehead. “You’re doing great babe,” he says in a whisper.

Harry smiles and falls asleep not long after that.

.

 

Zayn’s already saved a seat right next to him when Harry joins the group for breakfast early next morning. The rest of the boys don’t pay much attention to him – everyone’s been out late on their own without telling before and the boys have learnt to not pry too much into each other’s lives unless they were invited to. It’s what keeps them sane.

“You feeling alright?” Zayn asks quietly to Harry.

“My head’s shit but nothing unusual. I’ll be fine,” Harry answers with his head buried in his palms. Zayn pats his back affectionately and continues eating his breakfast.

Liam puts down his fork and clears his throat, ready to make an announcement. “So guys, Danielle reckons she could swing by while we’re in Chicago next week,” he says cheerfully, even though Zayn doesn’t miss the stolen glance directed at him and it seems neither does Harry since his hand is already placed lightly on Zayn’s leg.

“For how long?” Niall asks without looking up from his food.

“Dunno. But be nice to her while she’s with us okay?”

“Jesus. Calm down Li. S’not like she’s our stepmum or anything,” Niall snorts.

Louis laughs a little, “Yeah. We’re always a pleasant bunch.”

“Zayn?” Liam asks, eyes still worried like the little puppy he is. A puppy Zayn wouldn’t very mind kicking.

“What, me?” Zayn makes a face. He turns to Louis for support but sees that his friend doesn’t know how to react to the news himself. So he turns to Liam with a smile and says, _Don’t worry mate. Danielle loves me,_ in the most sarcastic voice he could muster up.

Liam throws his face down and texts Zayn an apology later in the evening.

***

 

When Danielle arrives it feels like all the oxygen in the room is sucked out and held somewhere Zayn can no longer reach. The boys welcome her with smiles, warm hugs and friendly flatteries – _those bunch of charming losers can’t even help themselves_ , Zayn says to himself. They’ve never really properly met her before, with the exception of Zayn, so they flock around her like the shiny new toy she is.

“Hello Zayn,” she calls from where she’s standing. Just like that the room goes silent.

“Dani,” he answers from his seat on the couch.

“Aren’t you going to come give me a hug? Come on now, don’t be a tit,” she says with a teasing smile. And if the boys were curious about her before, Zayn can only imagine how confused they are right now.

He stands up from his seat and sighs loudly for them to hear, but ends up with half a smile anyway as he hugged her. He sees Harry, Louis and Niall making confused faces behind her but Liam seems to have turned immobile after witnessing the interaction.

“Do you two know each other already?” Louis is the first one to ask.

Danielle chuckles and pouts, “Not well enough.” Zayn is happy to follow along and stay quiet. He signals for Louis to not ask any further with a look he hopes Louis understands. Louis obliges but Zayn knows he’ll be demanding an explanation after the ordeal.

“Okay, okay move along now guys. I need to be with my girlfriend,” Liam says pushing them all aside playfully.

Zayn turns around and goes back to his seat on the sofa, thumb already flickering through the television channels, before Liam finds an opportunity to push him away.

.

 

That night Zayn seems to suffer from his bouts of insomnia again, his thoughts racing faster than they’re allowed to. He’s stepped outside on his balcony to smoke, but it doesn’t seem like having warm smoke fill his lungs is going to help him very much tonight. Zayn wonders if he should just stay up all night and maybe catch up with Doniya or his mum over facetime but he remembers the early morning radio show interview they’re scheduled to have tomorrow followed by a photo shoot for rest of the day – and then they leave for the next city. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to survive tomorrow without a decent amount of sleep tonight.

He grabs his mobile and leaves his room to seek comfort from his three other mates. He considers talking to Louis when he remembers the explanation he owes, but he also remembers that Louis would likely be talking to Eleanor all night long and he didn’t leave his room to feel alone elsewhere. So naturally, he gravitates towards Harry’s room. Because, at the end of the night, Harry is comfort in long limbs, tight hugs, warm smiles and friendly kisses.

Three knocks on his door and Zayn is welcomed inside by a half naked Harry, but it isn’t like he (and more people than his fingers can count up to) has never seen Harry in all his god given glory so he isn’t fazed. Harry doesn’t seem too surprised to see him.

“Would it be okay for me to sleep here tonight?” he asks.

Harry answers by moving aside and opening his door wider to allow Zayn to come inside. He smiles and pats Zayn’s back. “Sure. S’not like you need to ask or anything.”

Zayn returns the smile and positions himself neatly on Harry’s bed, sitting opposite the side he knows Harry sleeps in. Harry doesn’t ask as he takes off his trousers, leaving him only in his briefs, before sitting on the bed next to Zayn, but Zayn explains himself anyway. “Thanks. Don’t think I want to be alone too much tonight.”

Harry stops surfing through the television channels. He shrugs a bit like it’s no big deal. “You’re always welcomed here, you know that,” he assures. Zayn smiles gratefully and his mind brings him back to the earlier days where he had always ended up in Harry’s bed whenever he’s afraid or just in need of good, peaceful company—which was pretty much every time he feels homesick. He hasn’t done it in awhile though, sneaking into Harry’s bed. Not since he’s had Liam to share his for most nights. Zayn’s glad Harry’s policy in sharing beds with his band mates still hasn’t changed even after the last two years happened.

Harry settles on a music station playing what Zayn considers are his songs – _always so considerate of his guests this boy,_ Zayn thinks. He lowers the volume before setting his remote aside, seemingly intending to have the television just play in the background. Harry turns to prop himself up on his elbow so that he faces Zayn. “Could I ask you something?”

“Yea sure,” Zayn says slowly, figuring he owes Harry whatever explanation he desires. _Wanted to be strong for you_ still resounds in his head whenever he sees Harry, leaving him touched but also feeling slightly guilty.

“How well do you and Danielle know each other?” he asks softly, voice smaller than usual as if he’s so afraid Zayn wouldn’t answer if he had asked any louder.

Zayn shrugs. “We’ve met a few times. Shared a cig, talked about Liam. That’s pretty much it I suppose,” Zayn pauses to think of other things to add. It’s always felt odd to him how he’s never hated her, not really. “Wish I could say something terrible about her but we get on pretty fine actually.”

“About Liam? Does she know?”

“Of course she knows.”

“Was she angry when she found out? How’d Liam talk himself out of that one?”

“He doesn’t know actually. She hasn’t told him that she knows.” Zayn shrugs again to say that’s really everything there is to the story, even if it does sound ridiculous when he says it out loud. “Don’t think he knows anything at all by the look on his face when he saw us hugging.”

“Well _,_ ” Harry murmurs. “Guess it’s a lot more fucked up than everyone thought it was, isn’t it?”

Zayn doesn’t answer. “And what about you? I thought you broke up with Grimmy,” he asks, trying to not sound like he’s prodding too hard.

“God could we please start calling him Nick. Grimmy sounds so fucking stupid,” he laughs before becoming quiet. “Sometimes he comes and says he’s sorry. I told you, I loved him too much.”

It feels like listening to his own life story. “You still love him,” Zayn wants to ask but it sounds more like a statement because he realises he knows the answer without having to ask. A part of him wants to feel sorry for Harry, but the most part of him understands.

Harry frowns. “Not at times like these. Sometimes I still think I do. But not on most nights.”

Zayn nods. Harry’s doing a lot better than he is. But then, Harry doesn’t have to be stuck in the same hotel and tour bus and plane and dressing room as Nick everyday. He doesn’t have to be reminded of what he couldn’t have all the time.

Zayn rests his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling, avoiding Harry’s eyes so that he could say what he wants to out loud. “You know I used to think I could love Liam enough for the both of us.”

“You don’t think he loves you?” Harry asks, but Zayn hears how it’s not really a question either.

“Not enough. Not in the way I need him to.” Zayn feels the corner of his lip curving upwards, the whole thing has started to look funny to him. _Here’s to another night of feeling sorry for myself._

When Zayn glances at Harry he sees the look on his friend’s face. The same look he saw the morning he found Liam missing from his bed. Up close, Zayn sees a layer he’s never noticed before. Harry isn’t just sorry for him, he’s terrified of seeing him break. It’s never really bothered him before but a voice in the back of his head tells Zayn he never wants to see that look ever again.

It’s a funny feeling you get when you realise someone else needs you to stand put together not because breaking down would burden them, or because they depended on your strength to be well themselves, but because they want you whole and complete. That, Zayn decides, what truly matters most is _want_ – _a conscious decision to want._

In a swift move Zayn thwacks a pillow into Harry’s face, completely erasing the look off of his face. Zayn laughs at how surprised and confused he looks. “Stop worrying so much about me Harry, it’s not a good look on you,” he says. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

Zayn turns his back to Harry and closes his eyes. He hears the television being turned off and then feels Harry shifting on his side. Zayn suddenly feels like he’s forgotten to say something—and now is probably the only time to say it. “You know you told me something the other night. In your drunken slurs.”

Harry scoffs. “Oh god what did I say this time?”

“You said you wanted to be strong for me,” he answers softly. He didn’t want to break the silence in the room. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to be... like it’s your duty or anything. I’m fine.”

Harry stays silent and Zayn can’t tell if he’s asleep yet because he’s always this quiet anyway, and when he tries he could even pass for mute. Being with Harry on nights like these is the most calm Zayn’s ever felt ever since being a part of One Direction. It’s the only calm he knows aside from holing himself up in his apartment and completely restricting contact with the outside world for a day or two.

“You’re here tonight,” Harry replies just as softly after a while.

Zayn smiles to himself. “Exactly. I don’t need you any other way. I’m fine with you the way you are.”

Harry huffs out a chuckle. The bed shifts again and Zayn realises Harry’s turned to face his way now. Harry scoots closer and wraps an arm around Zayn’s stomach, touching his head to the back of Zayn’s. Zayn missed having Harry wrapped around him a lot more than he thought he did, the familiar warmth starting to come back to him as he places his hand over Harry’s.

“Sometimes you should really hear yourself talk,” Harry mumbles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, half asleep.

“Oh nothing. Just go to sleep.”

When Zayn wakes up the next morning, Harry’s still wrapped around him, even closer than he was last night. Zayn slowly turns his neck around. Harry always looks years younger when he’s asleep. Zayn smiles a little at the sight, closes his eyes again and doesn’t bother moving until Harry wakes up.

.

 

On their ride back at the end of the day Zayn and Louis spent talking and shopping, Louis spent half the ride staring outside the window. Usually Zayn welcomed silence because it was his nature, but not with Louis – because it wasn’t Louis’ nature, and Zayn was worried.

When he finally spoke, Zayn wished he never had – he looked too serious for Zayn to register his next few sentences lightly. “You’re with Harry a lot lately,” he said, making Zayn jump.

Zayn immediately wondered whether his friends weren’t truly over each other and felt the need to defend himself, not because it wasn’t true but because he had never considered the time spent with Harry as anything worth bringing up about. “Not really,” he replied carefully.

Louis gave him a look that said _don’t even fucking try._ Zayn sighed and tried his best to explain what he wasn’t completely sure he understood himself. How was he supposed to understand how Harry had always been at the right place and the right time to see him vulnerable? Zayn’s never been a very curious person. He had learnt that some things are best left unquestioned, unfathomed. But there was one thing that stood out in each of his encounter with Harry, one thing that kept clawing at the back of his head trying to gain his acknowledgement, and he wasn’t very sure of how he felt about it.

“It’s not like it was my intention. I’ve never…told him anything. He just knew,” Zayn said.

Louis nodded and smiled, not to Zayn, but more like to himself. “You know, I think he knows…because he sees himself in you,” Louis said.

Zayn remembered what Harry said about loving Grimmy too much, and well… he saw how that worked out for Harry. So he couldn’t really find solace in Louis’ words. “Well, shit. Better start worrying then yeah?” he said with a smirk. It wasn’t really a joke. Louis laughed a bit though, as he always did. But then Zayn remembered what made him jump in the first place. “Hey, I’m sorry mate. I didn’t think you’d mind y’know, I didn’t think you’d still—,”

“What?” Louis cut him before frowning and shaking his head. “Don’t be silly you idiot. I don’t mind. It’s just…” he hesitated to continue, turning to stare out the window again.

Zayn prepared himself for whatever Louis had to say.

“I think you’d be good for each other,” he said, throwing Zayn’s head way off course. “It didn’t work out between him and Nick because Nick couldn’t love him enough. Couldn’t handle how much Harry loved him. I don’t think I could either by the end of our relationship to be honest. But you, you’ve got so much love to give Zayn—and so does Harry. I don’t want to see you waste it all on the wrong person.”

Louis pulled his eyes away from the buildings they were passing by and finally turned to smile at Zayn. “I think you deserve each other.”

 

***

 

Zayn’s never seen Harry as anything more than a friend. This is problem number one. Even after his talk with Louis that day Zayn continued seeing Harry in the same light he’s always seen him – quiet nights, understanding smiles, comforting hugs, sad sympathetic looks, and inexplicable timing. After the whole thing between Harry and Louis ended, Zayn was especially aware of how he acted around either of them, making sure he wouldn’t be crossing a line that made either one jealous. He was always cautious just in case either one of them was still harbouring feelings for the other. Sometimes, he still is—because that’s the way his mind is used to function. Harry belonged to Louis first, just as Liam belonged to him. This is problem number two.

But lying in Harry’s bed between entangled limbs and feeling warm whiffs of air on his neck that morning, Louis’ words came hitting him stronger than it ever did before. He could see how they made sense. He could imagine them together, happy. When Harry finally woke up—smiled at him when he realised he was still there—Zayn wished he were in love with Harry too.

Instead his eyes scrutinise every inch of Danielle’s skin that touches Liam’s, looking for anything he can find fault in. He’s not jealous, oddly enough. He doesn’t hear himself say _that should be me,_ he hears himself say _that’s not how I hold his hands –_ and afterwards he lets himself ask which way Liam prefers but he doesn’t ponder for too long (he’s nowhere close to the point of being delusional).

“If you stare any harder you’ll burn a hole through her top,” Louis says to him as he settles down on the couch beside him.

They’re waiting for Harry to finish with his personal frames before it’s their turns. Danielle’s hanging around backstage, hovering over Liam’s makeup bench and just generally frustrating the make up artist, and it’s not too different from previous times. Except previously he didn’t have to go through 24 hours of the same thing beforehand.

“That’ll be good entertainment,” he mutters.

Louis rolls his eyes but turns his face to look towards them as well. Zayn sneaks a glance in his way but doesn’t know what to look for, he can never tell what Louis is thinking from his face. Funny how the public thinks he’s the mysterious one when Louis is the hardest book he’s ever tried reading.

“I could ask El to fly over. She’d distract Danielle from hanging around so much,” Louis offers, a ridiculously extravagant—and probably unnecessary—idea but quite in character for him.

Zayn feels the upper corner of his lips tugging at a smile. “Nah that’ll just make them louder at night. Missing each other’s company so much during the day,” he says, making them both chuckle.

“Besides,” Zayn hesitates before he continues. He usually doesn’t like testing the waters very much. “Everyone seems to be enjoying her company don’t you think?”

“Yeah I think so.” It takes him a moment to answer but Louis has never been one to sugarcoat the truth. “She’s pretty cool, pretty funny. And - it’s nice - seeing Liam so happy.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Zayn says quietly, to Louis’ surprise. He shrugs before elaborating further, “It doesn’t hurt y’know, when I look at them. It hasn’t for a while. It’s just…there, like an itch – or a numbing gnaw. I just don’t know how to be around them. I – I don’t know man, can’t really put it into words to be honest.”

Louis takes a while to process. “No, I get it mate. I think I do.”

Zayn nods and smiles weakly when Louis gives his shoulder a pat before standing up to take his turn with the camera, leaving Zayn alone to his thoughts. He thinks of the times he’s truly felt hurt, times even he can undoubtedly tell his heart was breaking; _waking up alone after a night with Liam, feeling Liam wrapped around him after missing Danielle too much, Liam avoiding him after._ Liam’s the one who knowingly hurts him. Never Danielle.

.

 

Even though Zayn was tempted to sneak back into Harry’s bed again that night purely because of how pleasant his sleep was the previous night, Zayn didn’t let himself step an inch outside his door. He couldn’t have it become a habit or worse, have himself depend on it. So he flicks through movie channels and checks in on the family while he waits for his eyes to start feeling tired.

At about a quarter to eleven, there is a knock on his door.

Danielle’s standing on the other side of the door in an oversized shirt and pyjama pants. “I want to talk,” she says, her expression telling nothing else. “I think we should – talk. Can I come in?”

The number of times Danielle’s crept up on him like this had him expecting a conversation before she leaves, but he didn’t imagine it to feel as urgent as this because she’s never asked for permission. He imagines she’s just not the type. He would’ve never thought he’d feel this anxious to talk to her. _Ridiculous_ , he manages to think, _we’re not even dating._

Still he steps aside to make way for her. “Yeah sure,” he mumbles. “What is it?”

“Your room’s a lot messier than I thought it’d be,” she comments as she takes one sweep look around the room. “I’m impressed.”

Zayn frowns. “Thanks. Your boyfriend gives me a lot of shit for it.” Six months ago Zayn would’ve rather bled to death biting his tongue than admit that Liam belonged to someone else.

She doesn’t seem to have heard him. Her eyes are glued on a small plush toy Zayn had brought along on tour as a memorabilia from home. It was a gift from his youngest sister, something she made in crafts class. Zayn keeps it on his nightstand.  “It scares me sometimes – how alike we both are,” she says, still not looking at him.

And that Zayn can’t accept. Because if it were true, then it’d mean that he really was nothing but her replacement. That Liam’s never seen him as Zayn.

“Yeah well, are you just here to spat out blabbering nonsense or is there something you’d actually like to talk about?”

The look on her face tells him what he already knew. He’s never this violent – what she said must’ve really hit the right nerves. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest but the night feels too late to explain why he couldn’t stand those words so much.

“Can I at least sit down?”

“You’ve never asked for my permission before Dani,” he answers, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “Why start now?”

“People change Zayn,” she says. “You’ve changed. I’ve changed. Liam’s changed. The whole fucking world’s changing.”

“Me?”

She pretends she didn’t hear that. “So can I sit down? I sort of need to for this.”

Zayn nods and pats the space beside him. He feels genuine concern for her, he’s never seen her in this state before—granted he’s only seen her a few times, but still.

“Liam’s asked me to marry him,” she says, voice gone quiet.  

He feels his throat go dry, his head light. He thinks, even if he wasn’t sitting, he’d be too paralysed to collapse to the floor. He doesn’t know how long it takes him to regain his composure but he knows Danielle won’t try to disturb him before he’s ready. He clears his throat. “When?”

“A long time ago. Last time I was in town I think.”

“What did you say?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

It takes Zayn a moment to understand why she had to talk to him tonight. Why this isn’t about her trying to find solace in him. “And you’re ready now?”

“I-I love him Zayn,” she answers. She sounds more afraid to say it than he is to hear it. But then, after all these years he’s figured that _that_ must be the root of it all – why she had let him go so far. She never felt enough for Liam, so she thought it’d be selfish if she didn’t share him. Strange how she never said a word of that but he understood. He thinks he’s understood all along. Maybe she is right. They are exactly alike, only they were going in opposite directions. “I can’t keep running away from him forever.” _And Zayn can’t keep running towards Liam every time she does._

He lets himself fall on the bed and pulls his arm back under his head. “He loves me you know,” he says absentmindedly.

“Yeah I think so too.” Zayn turns to look at her. “He just loves me a lot more. I’m not rubbing it in Zayn. I’m just telling you the truth. And I love him too. And I want you to be happy. Because as strange as it sounds I care about you a lot you little boyfriend fucker.” Zayn smiles. “So you’ve got to let him go.” 

Zayn goes quiet. He’s felt the same way lately too. “Does he even know we’re friends?”

“We’re friends eh?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. He thinks it’s pretty obvious by know, but he can’t really pinpoint the moment they started. “You know we are.”

Danielle giggles. “No of course not. God forbid if he ever did, or else he would’ve suggested a threesome.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He wouldn’t. But I probably would.”

And Zayn can almost imagine falling in love with her too. Can almost imagine all three of them in love with each other equally. But it would never be equal because unlike Danielle, Liam would never stand to share Danielle. He knows that. So he laughs and playfully shoves her away. 


	2. HARRY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mainly dedicated to Yonit for being my main Zarry babe and being someone I could freak out over Zarry with. To Lisa for loving me enough to read and beta a 7k Zarry. Also to the rest of ot6 because I love us.  
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy. x

Revelations once made clutch at your limbs and seep into your skin until it reaches your bones and make a home out of you. Maybe it’s why, Zayn thinks, in movies and books, they’re always made at the beginning or the very end – no one wants to hear a story where the hero changes his mind right in the middle of saving his princess. They wasted a good fucking hour listening to that shit only to hear something else now. Writers understand this. Life, unfortunately, does not.

It’s been over three years since he first met Liam, three years he’s been in love with him. Zayn almost doesn’t want to give up purely because of the numbers – doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to reach the same figures if he had to reset his counter when he meets someone else.

But of course, as literature and philosophy had figured out long ago, revelations don’t stop haunting and tugging you at your neck until they’re acknowledged. And it seems that, in Zayn’s case, this particular revelation is a welcomed one.

The thing that Zayn’s realised is that no matter how hard you think you can’t live without someone, you can. Your heart keeps pumping blood through your arteries and the blood will flow back through your veins. Your cells will keep respiring and your lungs will keep providing oxygen. Biology doesn’t stop just because the love of your life is getting married to someone else.

And even though Zayn’s always had a flair for the dramatic (if you asked him before, he’d dive into a monologue about how the earth would stop rotating and that would be it for him), it calms him to feel his own pulse beating underneath the skin on his wrist. So he picks up a new habit.

“Do you think it means I never loved him as much as I thought I did?” he asks slowly, head hanging down the side of the hotel bed, thumb on his wrist.

Harry looks up from his phone. “It means you’re learning.” Zayn doesn’t react to the sound of that. “Why are you so caught up over this? It’s a _good_ thing, innit?”

Zayn doesn’t answer that either. Harry sighs and puts away his phone before lying beside Zayn, propped up on his elbows so that he could meet Zayn’s eyes without ruining his hair too much. “I can literally hear your brain cells working, Malik,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We should go out tonight after the show.”

Zayn doesn’t think that’s such a bad idea although, “Where…are we?” he frowns.

“Copenhagen.”

“Copenhagen,” Zayn repeats slowly, as if it’d help his feet set roots to the ground easier. “So what can we do in Copenhagen?”

“What else is there to do?” Harry replies, grinning. Zayn doesn’t understand how someone could be that happy doing things he’s always done in every nameless city he’ll soon forget—but Zayn agrees to it because Harry promises him a good time, and Harry always goes out of his way to keep a promise.

So they wind up in an elite club downtown, booze in hand and someone to take their mind off for the night on the other. Her name is Ella (or Emma) and she has blonde hair and doe blue eyes bigger than any Zayn’s ever seen, her lips plump and pink. Zayn’s set his eyes on her the minute they reach the bar. She was by far the prettiest girl in the club and Zayn was prepared to have a little fun competing with Harry for her attention. But Harry doesn’t give him much trouble that night.

In fact, Harry isn’t giving him any trouble at all. He doesn’t even spare any little more than a glance for Ella. He’s too busy grinding up with some bloke at the corner of the club. And while it isn’t anything new, it’s always risky when it comes to hooking up with random blokes. Girls coming forward claiming to have shagged them they can handle, but if guys start doing the same—it’d be press the band isn’t looking for at the moment.

“Am I boring you?” Ella asks him, demanding his attention, voice thick with her accent.

Zayn turns his head from trying to get a look at Harry back to her. “Nah, course not babe.” He flashes her a smile and hopes that’ll be enough. He’s pretty certain it always is. He lets his eyes trail its way back to Harry.

“Ah so he is gay.” Zayn’s neck snaps. “Your friend. Come on, everyone here knows who you two are. Is it really a smart thing for him to be doing that?” Her honesty takes him by surprise. Most girls have the decency (or the guile) to pretend to not know who they are. Zayn’s impressed, he thinks Ella really is concerned about what happens when you do something stupid in the spotlight—it’s the most naïve mistake you could possibly make, he knows; to expect so much from someone you just met.

“It’s not,” he scoffs.

“You know…I thought that being famous and all that, it meant that you could have anyone you want,” she says slowly, her fingers trailing the lines of the tattoo on his arm. Her eyes are fixed on the part where their skins touch and from this angle she looks prettier than he’s seen her all night. “Do you also wish you could have a cock to grind with instead?”

The way her lips formed around the word ‘cock’ was obscene.

Zayn’s about to kiss her right then, about to tell her _nah babe, I’m fine right here with you_. But then he catches on the corner of his eye Harry trying to push off the guy he was just dancing with a minute ago. He thinks he even hears a _fuck you_ that sounds like Harry’s even amidst all the noise in the club.

Within seconds he’s walked right past Ella. He throws her a sorry glance right off his shoulder when he realises it was rude of him to leave her so suddenly but she didn’t look very upset, instead she’s already talking to the bartender. Zayn shrugs it off even though it feels like a punch to his stomach, which is funny to him because he might get a real punch from this man Harry’s trying to fight off tonight. God he has the worst sense of humour.

“You’ve been asking for it all night and you fucking dare—,”

“Hey man, a no is a no,” Zayn says, hand on the guy’s chest as he steps in between Harry and the guy in front of him. He’s bigger than Harry, probably twice Zayn’s size. He’s towering them and Zayn thinks his presence isn’t going to make much of a difference if the guy wants to do any real damage to Harry, but he assumes club security won’t let it get that far anyway.

“Stay out of this.” The man doesn’t spare him a second glance.

“Just fucking back off!” Zayn finds himself shouting as he manages to push him a few inches away from them. “Or we’ll call the fucking security.” He feels like a fucking child threatening to rat out a bully to his teacher but if that’s what it takes for this to clear up, then so be it.

The guy throws him the dirtiest look but stops leaning towards them. He mock spits at Harry’s feet and flips him the finger before walking away, still staring at them.

Zayn turns his body around to hide Harry’s face from the rest of the club. Harry’s eyes are wide, his breathing quick and short. Zayn’s hands cup his face trying to get him to calm down. “Are you alright mate, did he hurt you?” he asks. Harry’s eyes meet his but he doesn’t answer.

Zayn pulls him into a hug when he’s calmed down a bit. His breathing slows down but it’s still heavy on Zayn’s neck each time he exhales. Zayn pulls back so Harry could see his face again before saying in a small voice, “Stay here while I get our tab, yeah?”

Harry nods and Zayn doesn’t break eye contact with him as he walks towards the bar.

“Is everything alright?” the bartender asks him, stealing a glance at Harry’s direction. It’s the samw bartender who’s served him all night. The one Emma— _Ella—_ talked to a minute after he walked away.

“Yeah, fine. Malik and Styles’ tabs please,” he says, pulling out his wallet.

The bartender leaves him to get the bill so Zayn takes the moment to make sure Harry’s fine. He’s still standing and breathing from what Zayn can see. When the bartender comes back and hands him the bill, Zayn wonders how standing is still in the picture for Harry. It shouldn’t be possible with the amount he’s had to drink.

Zayn’s about to hand him his card when the bartender hands him a small folded note. “The girl you were with earlier left you this,” he explains before taking Zayn’s card.

Zayn smiles a bit at the note in his hand, but he can’t even remember her face very well anymore if he’s honest. When he opens the paper he’s not surprised to see she’s left him her number.

_The next time you feel like doing something stupid in Copenhagen. Emma._

.

“You,” Zayn points out as they step inside their ride later that night. Harry is a lot calmer than he was 20 minutes ago. “You made me lose out on one hell of a girl, mate.”

Harry smiles as he looks outside the window. “You can’t be too upset about it. Bet you didn’t even get her name right half the night.”

Zayn punches him on the shoulder, letting him know he’s sort of (mostly) right and it makes him laugh. When the laughing dies down Zayn continues, “No seriously, mate, you should’ve seen her lips.”

“Yeah well,” Harry sighs. Zayn can’t see his face as Harry turns to look away from him again. “Bet I could make you come harder than she ever could.”

Zayn doesn’t know why that makes him lose his breath for a moment because the next minute Harry’s laughing like it’s the funniest joke he’s heard all night. Zayn rolls his eyes but cracks a grin. “Fucking cocky bastard.”

“That I am.”

When the laughter dies down and they’re left smiling at each other, and the alcohol in Zayn’s blood makes him feel warm all over, Zayn scoots over closer to Harry and asks him if he’s feeling alright once more which Harry answers with a nod.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Zayn’s a big believer in that. “But if you do, you can always come to me, you know.”

Harry smiles at him then lays his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “Thank you for tonight. I’m sorry. It’s become a pattern, hasn’t it?”

“What has?”

“This,” Harry says. His voice is so quiet that Zayn almost misses it. “Me getting drunk. You saving me.”

Zayn thinks of blaming it on the alcohol, he might even blame it on Harry’s curls blocking the oxygen from his brain, but perhaps it’s because Harry is so close and the air around them feels so thick that Zayn feels like it’s stopping the world from witnessing anything they could be doing. It’s also partly because Zayn realises how much he means it when he hears it in his head, that he lets himself whisper it to Harry like it was a secret.

“I don’t mind saving you.”

Harry’s face is as unreadable as it was the night Zayn found him alone. “Can’t afford you being a hero mate.”

“Why not? I like being a hero.”

Harry chuckles a bit. “Because I’ll fall in love with you. I always fall for the heroes.” His eyes are looking away from Zayn’s face and when Zayn follows their trail with his own, he has to wonder exactly at what point of the night they begun holding hands.

.

Zayn didn’t _have to_ put Harry into bed that night. By the time they’ve arrived back at their hotel Harry was standing up perfectly straight on his own. But he did so anyway.

Harry didn’t say another word for the rest of their journey and neither did Zayn. Neither of them pulled their hands away from each other either. They stayed that way, hands intertwined, until they reached Harry’s room. Zayn keeps telling himself that it’s no different from all the other drunken nights, that he’s always stayed with Harry until he’s safely tucked in bed to make sure he’s alright. It’s definitely not because he’s reluctant to let go of Harry’s hand.

“You don’t have to go,” Harry says quietly from where he’s lying on his bed.

Zayn stands there for a good two minutes unsure of what to do. He could give Harry’s hair a playful ruffle and tell him good night; pretend the night wasn’t anything more than what they’re used to. Or he could stay and possibly let the night go on, see where things could lead to. Even though Zayn isn’t sure whether he’s ready to.

But Zayn ends up taking off his jacket and jeans and slides in right next to Harry. He figures he could always pull out when he needs to, _if_ he needs to.

The smile on Harry’s face may have made his heart melt a bit, but he isn’t going to dwell on that.

“Go to sleep, you idiot,” Zayn says as he pulls up the duvet over his chest.

“Thank you again, for tonight.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m glad you stayed,” Harry says into the crook of his neck. Zayn doesn’t even realise when they’ve gotten so close, he never does with Harry. But right now their heads are on the same pillow and Zayn can feel Harry’s every breath.

Zayn doesn’t know what to say next. Inside he hears himself say _so am I so am I so am I._ Instead he says, “Go to sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Harry smiles as he closes his eyes. Zayn wonders if he can hear how loud Zayn’s blood is pounding through his veins at his skin.

“Will you ever get over Liam?”

The question hits Zayn like a punch on his chest. Not because he’s afraid of the answer, but because of the implications of Harry asking him. He doesn’t know when Harry starts to come with implications. When he starts to dig a bit deeper into everything they do. He doesn’t know for the life of him why he’s overanalysing anything because he’s sure if he really thinks about it, Harry’s always been this _close_. Always a bit neglectful of personal space. He wishes he were a bit more drunk for this.

“I-I don’t know,” he answers.

“Mm… I hope you do,” Harry croons.

Zayn wishes he never said that because now he’s stricken with the sudden urge to kiss him. Zayn shifts even closer to Harry, their noses touching. “I hope so too,” he whispers.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just smiles like the answer’s music to his ears. The room is dark but the moonlight shines through the window, illuminating Harry’s profile. It’s like something out of a photography book or a painting and right then Zayn wishes he could capture the moment too. To have it hung in a personal gallery. But he can’t, so that’s when he decides to kiss him.

Harry’s lips are soft and anticipating. They welcome him, eager to please. Zayn’s on top of him before he realises what he’s doing, a hand placed on Harry’s neck, another holding him down by the shoulder. Harry’s lips part and their tongues touch, sending little shocks through him.

Zayn pulls back when he feels Harry’s hand tugging on his waistband. _Not tonight,_ he thinks. He’s aware of the growing erection in both their shorts but no, not tonight. He doesn’t pretend not to see the disappointment and fear in Harry’s eyes, but when he smiles, Harry smiles back at him. So, hands cupping Harry’s face, he kisses him again.

“Go to sleep,” Zayn says to Harry as he gets off the younger boy and back into his side of the bed. Harry nods.

They don’t get any further than that that night. Harry falls asleep not long after, tucked neatly into his side, but Zayn’s head is running at a hundred and twenty kilometers an hour. So he’s kissed Harry. The implications aren’t just hidden between the corners of Harry’s lips or the space between his fingers anymore, they’re screaming at him. They want him to acknowledge their reality.

But Zayn isn’t ready for this. Here’s a boy, a beautiful _beautiful_ boy who knows all the right things to say and things not to say, who he’s loved so much and so hard for the past two three years of his life that he can’t imagine being Zayn without Harry—and the only thing his mind is telling him right now is to run away. To walk outside the door and to not look back. To blame it all on the alcohol even if they weren’t even present and he’s sober enough to recite poetry he’s learnt in English class four years ago.

He’s not even sure where he stands with Liam right now. He can’t just have things with Harry going on and hope everything will work out on its own. So he carefully tugs Harry’s arm away from his waist and walks out the room, hopes Harry doesn’t remember much tomorrow. He doesn’t look back.

When he sees Harry at breakfast the next morning—his lips a fine line, eyes refusing to meet his—he thinks he hears something in him break.

***

“So what does the future hold for One Direction?”

Zayn lets somebody else take the question (presumably Liam or Louis). They’re sitting in an interview for a news station Zayn can’t register. The questions are the same, their answers the same that they’ve always had prepared, the interviewers even begin to look the same.

Harry sits on the other end of the couch. Zayn’s been trying to get his attention for the past 10 minutes. He sees the pleasant surprise on their management’s faces when he answers questions he usually couldn’t be bothered to even listen to. But Harry wouldn’t acknowledge him at all. He laughs at all the right times, every time someone cracks a joke. But he wouldn’t look his way, not even a bit.

Zayn’s about to give up when the interviewer asks a slightly offensive question and makes a slightly rude comment about all the rumours concerning Harry. He’s been a womaniser, they say, attempting to hide the accusation with a joke. A heartbreaker.

“Yeah? Well, maybe people shouldn’t believe every little thing they hear,” Zayn snaps.

The man and woman look taken aback. Zayn can feel Niall shift uncomfortably beside him but his eyes are on Harry. Harry looks surprised as well, like he’s not sure what Zayn’s trying to achieve—usually he’d look grateful. Liam straightens up ready for some damage control but Zayn wouldn’t let him.

Zayn clears his throat. “I just mean that, y’know, with everything that gets said about celebrities in the papers and all, people should know that not everything that’s written is true. I think we’ve all had our share of dirty gossip, so we’ve all got an idea of how it feels to have people believe in the worst of you,” Zayn says, trying to justify why he had been the one to speak up for Harry. “That’s the thing about people, they choose to believe in the worst in others.”

The man clears his throat and shuffles through his stack of note cards ready to change the subject to a lighter one. That’s what One Direction interviews are all about, light and fun. Zayn doesn’t answer anymore question for the rest of the interview.

He’s the first one to leave when the interview’s over. Walks out the backdoor and shuffles through his pockets for a cigarette. When he hears the door open he didn’t expect it to be Liam walking out. But then again, it’s always Liam’s job to make sure everyone’s in proper manner. Zayn’s stopped listening to a word management’s said since they told him to hold back on the cigarettes.

“That was quite a show,” Liam starts, standing a few feet from him. He hates the stench of cigarette smoke.

“A good One Direction interview. There’s a first time for everything eh?”

Liam frowns. Zayn wants to kiss it away. “Is everything alright?” he asks. The concern would be enough to break Zayn if it were any other day.

“Yeah. It’s fine. I get tired sometimes,” Zayn answers.

“I know. We’re all tired Zayn,” Liam sighs. “But you can’t do that every time someone brings up something you don’t like. Alright?”

Something in Zayn snaps then. God he’s so angry. He’s been in a foul mood ever since Danielle walked into his room that night and told him something he thought the most important person to him would respect him enough to tell him in person. But now he’s realised he’s not even sure of what he means to Liam. He’s never been sure.

“Alright so what do I say when someone brings up your engagement Li?”

The look on Liam’s face tells him everything he’s ever needed to know. Was he supposed to be the last person to ever find out?

“How did you find out?”

“Is that really the fucking issue here? When were you going to tell me?” he raises his voice.

“Soon! I was going to tell you soon.” He looks so genuinely sorry, but Zayn can’t have it. Not anymore.

“Yeah well your fucking girlfriend beat you to it,” Zayn spats.

Liam’s eyes are turning red. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Zayn’s starting to feel the tears build up in his eyes too as he prepares himself to ask the most burning question he’s been asking himself for the last three weeks. “So where does this leave us?”

Liam’s lips part but they seem to be struggling to find the right answer. Zayn feels his cheeks turn wet. He wipes it off with the back of his hand. “I can’t. I can’t fucking do this anymore. I told you once I’d never leave you, but this isn’t part of what I signed up for. You’re getting fucking married Li.”

“What did you sign up for Zayn? Tell me. What did you want from me?” Liam’s voice roars through his ears.

Zayn loses a breath there. He’s never imagined that he’d ever have to answer such a thing from Liam. “Tell me,” he starts, his voice quivering. “Did you ever love me?”

Liam’s about to answer but Zayn wasn’t finished. “For me,” he continues. “Not as her replacement. Not because I was just there.”

His heart is pounding in his ears and he can’t even see clearly anymore because of the tears pooled up in his eyes but when he hears Liam’s answer, he knew that was it.

“I—yeah—of course Zayn.”

He chuckles and the tears spill out of his eyes. “See, that there, Li. That little pause. That’s all I ever needed to hear.”

He sees Liam try to say something from the corner of his eyes but even if he said something, Zayn’s ears are shut. Liam’s hand reaches out to him but he smacks it away. He wasn’t going to let Liam touch him, maybe ever again.

When Liam leaves him, walks away in defeat, Zayn collapses to the ground. He buries his head in his arms so no one could see him cry. He’s never felt so pathetic. But his thumb reaches for that spot on his wrist and he hears it. His pulse is still beating—he’s alive. He’s still alive.

***

 

It isn’t long before someone in the group catches on to what’s going on. For Niall and Louis to notice that the group isn’t functioning well as a group any longer. Zayn is angrier, Harry quieter and Liam keeps to himself. Never start a relationship with someone you work with. That was a gem Zayn’s had to learn the hard way.

“Y’know I’d probably have some fun for a bit. A year or two maybe. Travel the world,” Niall says when they were alone watching television.

Zayn frowns. “What are you going on about mate?”

Niall turns to look at him and shrugs, but his eyes are too dark for the likes of him. “You know. When this all goes to shit and we disappear into fucking nobodies.”

It’s always a wake up call when it’s Niall who says it because he wouldn’t give a damn if it weren’t of colossal importance. So Zayn straightens up in his seat, clears his throat, and looks back on how he’s been acting lately. If there’s one thing that keeps Zayn on his feet, it’s the thought of going back to Bradford for good. The thought of doing nothing remarkable with the rest of his life. Now that he’s had a taste of the fame and the crowd, he can’t imagine how he’d handle the ordinary.

The first step, he decides, is Harry. If Harry’s alright, he can’t imagine how things could go any more wrong. If Harry’s alright, then he’d have his calm back. He’d have the nights that would wipe away his doubts and fears back.

He prepares Harry’s tea for him at breakfast the next day. Hands it to him with an apologetic smile. Harry replies with a quiet _thanks._

The truth is Zayn’s the worst at apologizing. It’s fine when he offers it midsentence for something as trivial as breaking china, but not when it really matters. Not when he truly needs to mean it. The words get stuck on his tongue and the moment would disappear by the time he’d think he’s ready. So he tries to make up for it with smaller gestures, tries to make sure he smiles more so he could get away with saying less. He’d make any amount of coffee or tea, give any amount of adoring words and compliments until you could learn to forgive him. He’d be your work slave if it meant that he wouldn’t have to say he’s sorry.

But Harry’s a fan of grand gestures. He loves it when people tell him they loveadoreworship him. He’d never get enough of hearing it and once you say it, he’s yours.

Zayn thinks he could express himself better through songs, through words that were never his to begin with. He sings to Harry one night during a concert. Sings a verse with his heart out on the line for him. Harry feigns a heart attack and they all get a good laugh out of it. But after the concert nothing’s changed much.

Harry goes out on his own after concerts a lot now. One night Zayn hears a ruckus as the guards bring back a drunk Harry. Before he has time to change his mind Zayn is on his feet. He follows them as they drag Harry to his room and drops him on the bed. Zayn waits until they leave before he starts doing what he’s there for. Harry doesn’t notice until Zayn’s hands are on the button of his jeans.

“What are you doing?” he asks, still very drunk.

“I’m saving you,” Zayn grins, hoping he could get away with a bit of cheek. “Like I always do.”

Harry squints his eyes at him, looks mildly angry. “I don’t want you to,” he spats.

Zayn doesn’t let it get to him. He needs Harry to forgive him. He’s beginning to get desperate for it. He continues to try tugging Harry’s jeans off him but Harry struggles away. Tells him to _leave it, fucking leave._ Harry’s smacking his hands away from him and Zayn has to grab Harry’s wrists to tell him to calm down.

He ends up on top of Harry with Harry’s wrists in his hands. Their eyes meet then and Zayn feels it again, the sorry stuck on the tip of his tongue trying to escape between the slits of his teeth. The anger in Harry’s eyes translates into tears before long. He collapses to the space next to Harry when he’s sure Harry wouldn’t throw him off the bed anymore.

When Harry starts crying and says, _you’re a fucking prick,_ his voice sounding so small and childlike through his tears.

That’s when Zayn hears himself say the impossible. _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,_ he says through the night as he waits for Harry to fall asleep. Zayn falls asleep repeating the words he’s managed to escape his whole life.

.

 

Harry’s eyes are on him the moment Zayn wakes up. Zayn can’t tell how long they’ve been staring at him and he can’t tell what they’re thinking. He wonders if Harry remembers last night, whether he’d have to pluck up the courage to apologize all over again. He doesn’t know if he still has it in him so soon but he knows now that he can. He’ll apologize to Harry another hundred times if it needs be.

“How long have you been awake?” Zayn asks.

“Not very long.”

Zayn wants to ask him if he remembers anything from last night. He doesn’t think he has the right to though.

“Y’know you didn’t have to kiss me if you didn’t want to,” Harry adds suddenly.

Zayn feels a knot in his throat tighten. “I wanted to.”

Harry’s eyes scream of betrayal. “It didn’t seem like it when you left.”

“That’s not it. That’s now what this is about,” Zayn begins his defense.

“Stop,” Harry says, his eyes red and his nostrils flaring. Zayn’s never seen him look so angry. “If I have to go through another—“ Harry hesitates and then begins to chuckle. “Don’t fuck with me. It’s not me, it’s you innit?”

A pang of guilt strikes Zayn as he imagines a brokenhearted Harry going through the same conversation with Nick. With Louis and with every other person he’s been with before them. He imagines him crying, shaking his head because he wouldn’t accept defeat, as his significant other pulls away from him. It’s one of the most sickening images Zayn’s ever imagined.

“Harry—,” Zayn starts but before he can continue there’s a knock on Harry’s door. They have a meeting in an hour, the voice reminds them. They better be ready in fifteen minutes.

Zayn takes his eyes away from the door to look at Harry but Harry isn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes are focused on his hands and how they aren’t touching Zayn’s. With one hand Zayn lifts his chin up so that their eyes would align.

“We’ll talk tonight okay? I promise. I’ll explain everything.”

Harry nods and Zayn wishes he could trade anything, everything, he has to see the same fond trusting look in Harry’s eyes again.

.

 

Harry was, in the beginning of the days that would soon change their lives, the last person among the boys that Zayn learned to warm up to. He’s always smiled a bit too much, says things a bit too proper, and he has almost no inclination to respect personal boundaries. Zayn remembers the surprise and awkwardness he felt when Harry was the first to greet him, with an engulfing hug no less, at his dad’s cabin when they had first bonded as a group.

Zayn has a dark sense of humour, his friends have told him. He also looks at the world from an unfortunate point of view—everything was always a bit _too something_ for him. He’s never satisfied with things the way they are. So when he met Harry, their personalities crashed. Harry would say something positively buoyant and Zayn would throw his daggers at them, pin them up against the walls and fire at them with his own gloomy views until they break. But Harry never did.

Zayn loved to push Harry’s buttons back then and it didn’t matter much to him how much of a brat he was being. Harry was someone he could never befriend.

Until one night when Zayn was up awake smoking a cigarette, and the sky was as dispirited and miserable as he was. He had stormed out of the living room angrily over something as trivial as which band archetype they’d each become. Harry had come to him holding out a cup of freshly brewed tea when everyone else’s initial instinct was to stay away from him.  

“It’s not going to be such a bad thing mate,” Harry said patiently. “People will say what they want, but you’ll have your chance to show them who you are. Besides, if the worst comes to shove, we’ll have each other, won’t we?” He didn’t say anything more and he didn’t wait for Zayn’s reply. He just sat there out in the patio on a chair next to Zayn’s and sipped on his tea.

Zayn fell in love with Harry’s positive nature a little bit that night. Little did he know that he’d depend on it continually over the next couple years of his life. And to think that he could be one of the few people responsible for a part in the gradual death of Harry’s light—well, it makes him sick to his stomach. 

Zayn knocks on Harry’s door at precisely half past nine, when everyone else is busy in their room or in the streets of Berlin. Zayn can feel Harry standing at the other side of the door before he even opens the door and he wonders if the door is thick enough to mask the noise of his pounding heart then. Harry opens the door not long after and gestures for Zayn to follow him inside.

“Alright, you wanted to talk. So talk,” Harry says uninterestedly as he sorts through his luggage, his back facing Zayn.

Zayn walks towards him slowly. “I’m sorry. For running away that night.”

Harry flips around towards him, his hands folded. “You kissed me.”

“I know,” Zayn says dejectedly.

“And then you left me.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve avoided me ever since.”

Zayn shakes his head and his voice took a tone a decibel higher than he’d expect it to be. “No you were the one avoiding me!”

“Because you left after you kissed me!” Harry’s shouting every word with emphasis at him now but his eyes have gone red again. Zayn’s seen those miserable eyes far too many times in the past twenty-four hours. “I didn’t know what to think—or feel! I thought you were disgusted of me. I thought you were angry.”

“Oh Harry I’d never—,” Zayn begins but Harry’s already on his feet again trying to find something new to distract him. Zayn realises how Harry wouldn’t trust a word he’s saying as long as he hasn’t said why he really left. “I ran away after I kissed you—because I was scared. Because I wasn’t ready. For us.”

Harry turns to look at him. His face looks so forlorn and defeated that it takes every muscle in Zayn to restrain himself from holding him. Harry shakes his head sadly. “I wasn’t asking you for anything Zayn.”

Zayn feels tears causing a sting in his eyes as well. “See that’s not true. We wouldn’t be here talking if it were. If it was just some meaningless kiss.”

Harry’s jaw tightens and there’s a sense of determination in his eyes that Zayn doesn’t quite understand. “You’re right,” he says. “You’re absolutely right. That kiss meant a great deal more to me than it did to you.”

Zayn narrows his eyes, wondering if Harry’s tone was accusing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think?”

“Harry—“

“I like you okay. I have _feelings_ for you.”

The words seem to hit him right in the gut and for a moment he loses his breath. He’s expected this, if he were honest. But still he’s brought back to his first day meeting with the band and the discomfort in his nerves as a boy he doesn’t know very well wraps his arms around him. And yet at the same time, he’s also taken back to the taste of slightly oversweet tea and the warmth the arms of that same strange boy would provide him.

“W-why...me?” It’s the lamest, but the only, question he could think of.

Harry scoffs out a chuckle. “Can’t believe you’re actually asking but fuck me. All right,” Harry says with a slightly bitter smile. “It was pity at first. At first I thought, oh this stupid fucking fool letting himself being tossed around like trash when he deserves the world.”

Zayn’s heart clenches a bit at that but he thinks he deserves it.

“We were mates I didn’t want you getting hurt,” he continues, the smile on his face gone. “So…so I had it in my head I’d be your guardian and shit. I’d watch over you. I didn’t want you to go through the same shit I did. But then I realized I was watching you…too much. And not always for the right reasons.” Harry’s eyes are hollow when he shrugs and says, “Too late by then.”

“I didn’t know.” It was the only thing Zayn manages to say.

“You didn’t know because you weren’t supposed to know. Frankly if you had suspected anything and came to talk to me about it I would’ve called you a vain and arrogant ass and I wouldn’t like you nearly as much.”

“I—“

“Don’t,” Harry threatens, his voice low. “Don’t fucking start pitying me too Zayn. No one’s ever going to go anywhere if they start pitying every sorry fool they meet in their life.”

Zayn sighs. “That’s not— I didn’t—“ Zayn struggles to conjure up the words. “Look Harry, truth is I wanted to kiss you that night I just needed to make sure if—“

“If you wanted me as well,” Harry completes his sentence. His eyes avert themselves to focus on the carpet.

“I was heartbroken mate. I didn’t want to end up leading you on or anything. You deserve better than that. I know what I did wasn’t any better but that’s—well, that’s my honest truth, if you’re still wondering.”

Harry snivels and huffs as he nods slightly, his eyes finally meeting Zayn’s again. “You’re a good friend Zayn,” he says, making Zayn slightly nauseated because he truly wishes he were a better one. “Well, for the most part anyway, gloomy bastard.”

It takes Zayn a few seconds to notice the curl on Harry’s lips and to register the remark as a joke. Zayn bombards him with a hug when he does, sending Harry into a fit of giggles. “Fuck I’ve missed you,” Zayn mumbles into Harry’s shoulder. Harry laughs and pats him before giving him a nice squeeze.

When they pull apart and the first thing Zayn sees is the pink of Harry’s lips, Zayn has to fight the urge to kiss him all over again. So he turns himself around and slumps against the wooden frame at the foot of the bed next to Harry. At least this way he’d have a better chance to not accidentally stare at Harry’s mouth. He has a ridiculous one, that boy. It’s pretty much one of the fastest agreements Zayn’s ever reached with the rest of the boys.

“So what now?” Zayn asks.

Harry smiles at the carpet but Zayn doesn’t think it looks very happy. “I don’t know. Try and move on I guess—pretend it’s never happened.” Zayn immediately bites his lower lip. He never realised how much he didn’t want that. “I mean, you still have to sort your shit out with Liam and stuff.”

 “We have actually. It’s over, for good,” he hears himself saying. Harry’s head snaps up to look at him. Zayn sees the glints of hope they contain. “The getting over bit’s still in process though. It’s not as easy obviously.”

Harry nods understandingly and Zayn’s fingers find their way to the gap between Harry’s. Zayn fixes his eyes on their hands so that he could say the words he’s about to articulate next. “Look I’m not—I’m not gonna ask you to wait for me, alright Haz? I’m not gonna do that.”

Harry smiles again and says, “Alright. And I’m not going to ask you to try either. In fact I don’t want you to. You should never have to try to fall in love. It either happens or it doesn’t.”

Zayn inclines and it’s a promise not only for Harry but also for himself. “Alright then.”

But when Harry brings their hands up and leans forward to plant a kiss on Zayn’s hand, when Harry whispers _alright_ into his knuckles, Zayn can’t seem to shake off the tight feeling in his stomach or control the way his heart’s starting to pace up again.


End file.
